


Safe and Sound

by Steals_Thyme (Liodain)



Category: Watchmen - All Media Types
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, M/M, Object Insertion, Orgasm Control, Pre-Roche, Sounding, Trust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-10
Updated: 2010-07-10
Packaged: 2017-10-10 11:49:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/99447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liodain/pseuds/Steals_Thyme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dan is a kinkster, but Rorschach just hates his own dick.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Safe and Sound

**Author's Note:**

> For [](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**kink_bingo**](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/) – prompt is 'object insertion'. Contains fairly detailed description of sounding—that's inserting metal rods into the urethra—so you might wanna skip this if that ain't your thang.

There are a half-dozen metal rods laid out on Daniel's workbench, next to the autoclave. Thin and incrementally varied in circumference, perhaps a foot long. Most are straight, but a couple curve at the end. They're all stainless steel. Rorschach picks one up and turns it between finger and thumb, basement lights sliding over the reflective surface as he inspects it. They're unlike the usual greasy engineering components Daniel uses, and he wonders if perhaps they are decorative rather than functional.

He can't think what Daniel would decorate with such trim, though.

Daniel looks up from his tinkering. He inhales sharply and says, "Don't touch those."

Rorschach narrows his eyes and puts the rod back precisely as he found it.

–

He spends the rest of the night trying to figure out what they are, in between brawls and busts and as Daniel takes them home. They're too long for Daniel to be crafting lockpicks, and he could just purchase some anyway. Some kind of weapon? They aren't edged, seems impractical. Medical equipment? What kind of injury would necessitate their use?

Why the tight response to Rorschach touching them?

The Owlship sets down, and Daniel scuffs back his cowl with the heel of his hand. He has been quiet, Rorschach realizes. Very little inane banter tonight.

They disembark, and Daniel shucks off the top half of his uniform. "Are you coming up?" he asks.

–

Rorschach splays on the bed while Daniel kneels over him naked and damp from the shower, lets him unfasten his shirt buttons. His hands are broad and thick-fingered, so different from Rorschach's—those are narrow, sinewy, knotted from a dozen self-set breaks—but just as capable of incredible dexterity. Rorschach has watched him wiring or soldering, and the deftness with which he can manipulate slender metal—

"What's wrong?" Daniel asks, nosing the mask up and mouthing at his cheekbone.

Rorschach rolls his head back, fixes his gaze on the ceiling. "Nothing. Why did you stop."

"You just jumped like you were shanked, and now you're stiff as a board." He props himself up on his elbows and looks down at Rorschach, brow wrinkled. "And not in the fun way."

Rorschach huffs out a breath. It would make sense that the rods are some kind of sexual paraphernalia, some new level of perversion. Daniel always had strange predilections, and there are only a select few that Rorschach is willing to tolerate. Too many compromise his own rules: always in the dark; only hands down there, no mouths; never like animals; never at his place.

"Those... metal rods," he says, "in your workshop."

The tips of Daniel's ears turn pink. "Ah, um. Yeah, what about them?" he says, with spectacularly unconvincing nonchalance.

"Curious about their purpose."

"Their purpose. Uhh, they're, well." Rorschach watches Daniel's face as he filters through various disingenuous explanations. Eventually, sensibly, he seems to settle on the truth: "They're sounds."

"Sounds."

"They're for, uh. It's kinda like..." He sits up, rests an elbow on his knee and rubs the back of his head, shifts in acute embarrassment. "You know what, never mind what they are."

Rorschach congratulates himself on his astute deduction. "They're for—"

"They are... yeah. For sex."

Rorschach curses the all-consuming nature of his curiosity. It is just the cold, clinical facts he wants. Purely for reference; he can't stamp out depravity if he doesn't know what it looks like. "Huhn. _How?_"

Daniel's eyes widen, and Rorschach realizes he wasn't expected to question any further. Daniel opens his mouth, closes it again, and then holds his hands up as if he's going to mime something. "Honestly, I don't think you want to know." He drops them into his lap again, idly cups himself.

"Wouldn't have asked," Rorschach says, because now his curiosity has turned morbid. "If I didn't want to know." For his sins, he wants to know what it is about those lengths of metal that both arouses and embarrasses Daniel so much.

"Oh, god. Okay. I think—can I show you? No pressure."

Rorschach nods, shrugs off his shirt, for comfort's sake. It is hot in the room and he can smell his own stale sweat in the material. He balls it up and tosses it onto the floor.

There's a bundled white towel on the dresser, and Daniel stands up, unwraps it with his back to Rorschach. There is the lustrous sound of smooth metal sliding over smooth metal, and he is holding one of the rods when he turns around again, grasped carefully at the very end.

"This is a sound," Daniel says. He sits on the corner of the bed and rests the sound over his thighs while he squeezes some lubricant onto his palm. "And it goes in, uh. In your penis. The urethra."

With a horrified satisfaction, Rorschach feels his erection wane. "What."

Daniel gives a nervous little laugh. "It feels really good. Trust me."

Rorschach makes an inarticulate choking noise. He doesn't want to believe it, but since he has had revelatory experiences with things inserted where they shouldn't, it's difficult. Especially with the way Daniel is all but shaking as he slicks up the rod.

"There are ones that curve; I used them a couple of times but you can't... can't get them in if you're hard, and, well, sometimes just thinking about doing it..." He stops babbling long enough to gesture at himself, straining and flushed with blood. "So these ones, I—are you okay, buddy? Am I freaking you out?"

"No," Rorschach says. He is not squeamish, and some part of this is dangerously appealing. "Can't, if you're...?"

"Oh. Yeah, uh. In or out."

Rorschach stares at the ceiling, and takes a long minute to wonder at himself. He has mostly decided that this will hurt, and that doesn't faze him at all. Part of the appeal, maybe.

"Show me," he says. He shrugs off his suspenders and slips the button of his fly.

Daniel gapes at him and drops the bottle of lubricant. The sound slips from its perch as he bends down to retrieve it, and he swears under his breath. When he rights himself, his face is a deep pink.

"You're serious?" he asks, and he is glowing like he's been given an unexpected gift. "Really?"

Rorschach pulls his mask the rest of the way off in order to fix Daniel with a barely-patient expression. He is not in the mood for repeated reassurances tonight, in either direction.

"Okay, okay." Daniel laughs again, still shot through with nervousness. He crawls over the bed to tug at the waistband of Rorschach's pinstripes, encourages him to raise his hips to better wrest them off.

The underwear goes next, and Rorschach needs barely a brush of Daniel's fingers along his inner thigh before he is stiffening again. He makes a dismayed noise.

"S'all right," Daniel murmurs, and drags shaking fingertips across the ridge of Rorschach's hipbone. He grins. "We can work with this." The mattress shifts as he gets to his feet and picks up a different sound from the dresser. It catches the soft light that blooms under the door, makes it glint and shine.

Rorschach lets the weight of anticipation settle in his belly, feels his pulse accelerate. When Daniel takes him in hand and gives him a gentle squeeze, his breath comes in jagged spikes.

"You need to do what I tell you," Daniel says. He sounds apologetic about this, even as Rorschach's penis twitches in his hand. "Stay as still as you can, try not to, uh. Try not to move. We can stop anytime you want."

He kneels next to Rorschach, rod balanced delicately between finger and thumb, and Rorschach thinks, _that is going inside me_.

"Look at me," Daniel says, voice soft. "Don't look at the sound, look at me." Rorschach does, looks at his dark eyes and wet mouth, the intentness of his expression and the awful affection in it. He feels Daniel's hand move on his penis, angling it. "Okay, ready?"

Rorschach manages a noise that must have sounded affirmative enough, because there is hard warm metal against the slit of his penis, and Daniel's fingertips, and he is trying to figure out just how he got here, how he ever let himself trust someone _this much_—

Daniel guides the tip in slowly, and there is discomfort for a span of seconds (and he thinks, _of course it will hurt_) but then it subsides into a sensation that is unlike anything he's felt before. It's an inexorable slide into his body, in and in and down, opening him a way that is entirely different from any of the other terrible, shocking things they have done together.

He breaks into a sweat, shivering and sweltering like he has a fever, scalp prickling. He's unable to resist any longer; he flicks his eyes away from Daniel's face (he's biting his lower lip, pupils dilated) and down to where his penis juts, grasped at the base by one of Daniel's hands and impaled by the length of metal he holds in the other.

He watches the rod sink further of its own volition, gliding between Daniel's guiding fingers, pushing in a deep pressure where there should be none and he can't _stand_ it, the stretch and the tension and how utterly vulnerable this makes him.

"Good," Daniel breathes. "You're doing good." He releases Rorschach's penis, smooths his hand over his belly and hips and thighs, chasing away the quiver in his muscles and bringing equilibrium to his body. "It's in, it's all–oh god, you look so..."

He feels solid to the core, but there is none of the pain or devastation he expected. He's about to gather the wherewithal to ask, "What now?" when Daniel moves his fingers just a fraction, makes the sound shift inside him, and suddenly there are bright spots on the periphery of his vision and he's gasping, fingers curled into the sheets and around Daniel's shoulder and he's desperately trying to catch himself.

"Not yet," Daniel says, and does it _again_.

"Daniel." He tries to convey his urgency by grabbing at his hair.

"Not yet," Daniel repeats, low and syrupy, patiently moving his hand away and giving it a gentle squeeze. Rorschach can feel just how much he is enjoying this, pressed firm against his thigh. "God, I wish you knew how I... what this..." Daniel trails off into a rich, indulgent noise, not quite a moan. "How does it feel?"

Even if there were words to describe this, Rorschach couldn't; he would taint it with shame and bitterness, because this is not why he wanted—

Daniel's hand curls around his hip, holds him firm while he draws the sound out a few inches, slowly, and then lets it slip back again. Rorschach wants to jerk his hips up and pin himself on it, or grab and crush himself around the metal rod with ruthless tight strokes. It doesn't hurt at _all_ and it's too much and Daniel is holding him down, whispering _don't move_ and _I got you, buddy_ and, unspoken and liminal between all these words and actions: _trust me, trust me, you trust me_.

"Stop," Rorschach gasps. "Enough."

"Okay," Daniel says. "Okay, hold still." He begins teasing the sound upward, setting nerve-ends alight as it drags out of him with excruciating, delicate slowness—too slow, far too slow to outpace the gathering heat low in his belly and the shuddering, complex tensing of all his muscles. Rorschach arches his back as far as he can and gasps hoarsely as the sound pulls free, tugging the orgasm out of his body as it goes, unfurling it in steady, rhythmic increments that seem to go on forever.

–

He is fuzzy, feels wrung out and fragile and tender everywhere. Daniel's hand on his chest is searingly hot, as is the breath hitching against his neck, and his release as it spills over Rorschach's hip and stomach.

Daniel curls against his side, wallowing in the sticky afterglow. His fingers brush Rorschach's softening length, and Rorschach twists away so he doesn't have to look at his face.

–

He doesn't know how long they were out; it feels like hours but Daniel shakes him awake and gets him on his feet, then in typically childish vernacular tells him to go pee, so it can't have been that much time.

He avoids the bathroom mirror, stands at the toilet bowl with his penis in hand, soft and innocuous under the fluorescents. He clenches his teeth, pulls back the foreskin and rubs his thumb over the slit. It's stretched and sore but the darts of pain feel appropriate, so he presses into it harder, a ragged corner of his thumbnail biting into the tender flesh.

He closes his eyes and thinks on what Daniel told him about the curved sounds; imagines them hooked inside him, no way to escape their unyielding rigidity until the worst is over.

He knows it can't be penance if he wants it. He'll tell himself that he doesn't.


End file.
